


The Waiting

by keep_waking_up



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dirty Talk, F/M, M/M, Masturbation, Mentions of Het Sex, Public Sex, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-14
Updated: 2013-10-14
Packaged: 2017-12-29 09:18:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1003673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keep_waking_up/pseuds/keep_waking_up
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patience isn't a trait that runs in the Winchester family</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Waiting

**Author's Note:**

> The Waiting by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers came on while I was writing this. It was so appropriate that I made it the fic title.

Patience wasn’t a trait that ran in the Winchester family.

When it came down to it, Sam wasn’t sure who was worse, him or his brother. Dean was all about instant indulgences. Fast food, fast cars, and loose women were the name of his game. Sam was much more goal oriented. When he wanted something, he worked at it until he got it, whether it was an A in AP Calculus or avoiding that drop kick Dean liked to use on him.

But neither of them were good at waiting.

It chafed at Sam in the worst way, knowing that he would have everything he’d wanted for so long, but he had to wait. Things he’d loved while they were still circling each other now drove him mad; watching Dean clean the Impala on Sunday was a special kind of torture and Sam buried his head in his pillow so he couldn’t hear his brother jerking off in the shower. It almost made Sam wish that their weird flirtation had lasted a bit longer, so at least he was still chasing, instead of sitting on his ass and waiting.

Still, he couldn’t object. He and Dean had agreed, even if it hadn’t been out loud. They’d only kissed for a few blissful seconds before they’d both pulled apart, as in sync as ever. Neither of them had said anything, but the next day, Dean bought a calendar and circled Sam’s sixteenth birthday in red pen. Sam had looked up from his cereal and nodded, and that had been that.

He knew why Dean wanted to wait. In these sorts of things, Dean was fairly predictable. He was worried about taking advantage of Sam, worried about corrupting him, worried, worried, worried. For someone who was so carefree about other things, Dean was always awfully worried about Sam.

Sam had his own reasons. And, okay, maybe he was a little worried too.

In diners and dive bars across the nation, Sam waited and watched. He watched as perky blonde waitresses and sultry brunette bartenders turned their eyes on his brother. He watched Dean flirt with cheerleaders and cougars, witnesses and widows. He kept quiet when the girls leaned in a little too close and when Dean’s eyes dipped down to ample cleavage or mile-long legs. He watched and he waited and he worried.

But every night without fail, Dean came home clean of the scent of alcohol and pussy. Every night, he jerked off in the shower, moans echoing through the thin walls. And every night, he laid down in the bed opposite Sam and went to sleep.

Okay, that wasn’t quite true. Some nights something different happened.

Some nights, when Dad was gone and the air was crackling with a bit more tension than usual, Dean would come out of the shower in just his old, worn sweats and slip into Sam’s bed. He’d turn off the lights and slide closer so that his chest was pressed against Sam’s back, and he’d whisper in his ear. For once, he didn’t talk about hunting, or dad, or his car. (Although the Impala was involved sometimes, in ways that made Sam blush the next time he slid into the passenger’s seat). 

No, on those nights, Dean found ways to make the waiting a little more bearable. 

Sam’s heart was already beating a little bit faster by the time the light by their bedside table clicked off and Dean slid in behind him. They were in a run-down condo this time, owned by a red-haired woman who smoked too much and offered Dean a cigarette whenever she saw him, ignoring Sam the whole time. Sometimes Dean came back to the condo smelling of smoke, and Sam knew he’d chatted her up a bit to try and get the rent lower. Sam couldn’t help getting pissed every time. After the first few times, Dean had gotten into the habit of showering right after talking to her. He’d come out smelling fresh and ruffle Sam’s hair, and act like he hadn’t done anything out of the ordinary.

He hadn’t talked to her today, though, Sam thought as Dean pressed up behind him. No, Dean had spent the day with Sam. It was a rare day; they hadn’t spent the time training or researching or anything like that. Instead, Dean had made pancakes in the morning. They’d gone to see a horror movie at the local theater and sat in the back row eating popcorn soggy with artificial butter. Then they’d gone out to dinner at the local grill that both of them loved. Sam’s cheeks warmed as he realized that it was all a bit like a date.

And now they were in bed together. Sam really wished he could put out.

Dean’s breath was warm against his ear, and that was all it took for Sam to be half-hard. He was fifteen and horny, and his body knew what this meant. Dean all hot against his back meant that the next minutes would be sweaty, dirty. At the end, Sam would end up dirtying up his sheets.

His right hand was already at the waistband of his pants before Dean started talking. He spoke like they were in the middle of a conversation that he’d only just picked back up. “I never told you about Lydia Curtis, did I?” He didn’t wait for any sign of response from Sam before carrying on. “I was a little bit older than you when I went out with her. I took her out to the movies too. We sat in the back row. It was practically empty.” There was another pause and Dean’s lips brushed against Sam’s ear. “So, I got down on my knees, pulled her underwear down, and ate her out. Right there.”

Sam sucked in a loud breath in the silence after Dean’s words. His hand clenched convulsively around his dick. He was all the way hard now. Only a few more words from Dean and he’d be leaking precome for sure. Clenching his eyes shut, he let Dean’s words paint a picture in his mind.

Dean didn’t disappoint. “It was hardly my first time going down on a girl. But there was something about doing it there, knowing anyone could come in. There were kids up in the front row, and if she’d been too loud… She held her hand over her mouth, but she kept making all these little noises. I swear, I blew my load just listening to her and licking at her clit.”

Sam could see it: Dean, still young and a bit naive, head under the girl’s skirt and plump lips pressed up against the girl’s pussy, those long lashes brushing against his cheeks because his eyes were closed from pleasure. Licking his own lips, Sam started up a slow, teasing rhythm. If Dean was starting with an intro, tonight would be a long night.

Dean’s hands sat on his hips, carefully innocent. “I hadn’t thought about it in years… And then we were sitting in the back row of the theater today. You were wearing those ridiculously tight jeans and one of my t-shirts. I looked over and all I could think about was peeling those jeans down and rimming you ‘til you cried.”

His hips jerked forward, startled by the sudden burst of arousal. Sam shook his head a little bit, hand speeding up unconsciously. Dean had never—Dean’d never even talked about anything other than jerking him off or blowing him. There’d been a couple of mentions of fucking, but those had been so quick, easily glossed over. Now…

Dean didn’t give him time to recover. His voice was husky and earnest, coming ever faster in Sam’s ear. “You’ve got a perfect little ass, Sam, all pale and perky and mine. I bet your hole’ll be just as pretty. It’ll be so pink and tight, but it’ll open right up under my tongue. Just give you a couple of kisses, and you’ll loosen right up, won’t you? And you might argue a bit at first, might be afraid to let me do that to you where anyone could see you. You’ll blush and stammer, but you’ll let me, because you want me that much, right?”

Nodding frantically against the pillow, Sam ground back against Dean. He moaned angrily as Dean carefully pulled their lower bodies apart, chuckling a little. “No, not yet, Sammy. You just jerk off and listen to me.”

Sam subsided, panting a little, only to hiss when Dean murmured, “Good boy.”

There was still laughter in Dean’s voice when he started talking again. “Always so feisty. Always pushing and pulling and fighting… but if I got you under my tongue, you’d calm right down. I’d hold you still and just go to down, eat you right up. I can’t wait to know how you taste down there, Sam. I bet I could spend hours just going at you… but you wouldn’t let me, would you? You’d be squirming and moaning and crying out for me, even if we were in public. You wouldn’t want to wait, no, you’d want me to get you off right then and there.” A dry kiss landed against Sam’s neck. “But I’d know better. I know you get off better with a build, know you like to wait until you’re desperate for it. I’d give you that. You’d trust me to do that, right Sam?”

“Yeah,” Sam whispered, and he was surprised by how deep his own voice had become. It hadn’t been long, but he was too overwhelmed, too close. He tried to buck, but Dean’s grip held him still. “I would, Dean, I swear. I would, I do—”

“Shhh,” Dean warned him teasingly. “Wouldn’t want anyone to hear. Don’t want anyone to come in and see you like this, getting off because your older brother is talking about eating you out like a girl.”

Sam gave up on jerking off being enough. He flopped down on his stomach and began rutting against the mattress and his hand, hair in his eyes and breath coming fast. Dean’s hand stayed on his lower back, urging him on. “By the time I let you come, you’d be so needy and desperate. You’d have your ass in the air like a whore, pushing back on my face like you couldn’t get enough.” Sam whimpered at the image and Dean’s hand dug into his back a little. “You like that idea, Sam? Wanna ride my tongue? Or maybe you wanna sit on my face? Sit on my face and fuck yourself on my tongue?” 

With a loud cry, Sam came.

Like a puppet with his strings cut, Sam sagged against the mattress, breathing open-mouthed into the sheets. His eyes slid shut as Dean stroked his back a few times, before rolling off the bed. He didn’t bother watching as Dean shuffled around. He moved when Dean told him too, climbing into the clean bed at Dean’s urging.

A couple of minutes later, Dean had changed the sheets and was lying in the bed that had been Sam’s. Sam blinked over at him, his shape dim in the dark, before falling asleep.

The next morning, he crossed another day off the calendar and smiled. 

Two weeks left. 

He was definitely getting Dean to take him to the movies to celebrate.


End file.
